


Cirque du Freak

by VincentMeoblinn



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Mycroft is creepy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:02:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2662853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is a fortuneteller at a circus run by Mycroft when John and his gf Mary come in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

The circus had been an unusual one. John had been expecting laughs and flirting, not scary and weird shit. The giant spiders on people’s faces and bearded woman who shaved her face with a bowie knife and then grew it back in under a minute were alarming. Mary was at his side looking less than thrilled with the date and he would have been feeling the same if he wasn’t so _excited_. Then they’d gone and chopped off someone’s fingers and fed them to their partner and Mary had told him she needed to leave, she felt _sick_. John had left with disappointment in his gut just as someone started to set up a bull’s eye.

They walked through the fog surrounding the tents, the odd lights dancing like faeries strewn across each one. At the entrance the occupants beckoned as they tried to hock their wares.

“Try to knock over the urns. Hit one filled with ashes and you win a prize. Only £3!”

“See how my hands move? How fast are your eyes? Find the death card and have a longer life!”

“World’s fattest woman! See how she defies gravity while she dances! Out-eat her and win a prize!”

“Would you like to know your fortune, John?” A deep voice called.

John froze, turning his head to take a look at a man dressed in flowing silk from head to toe. Around a mop of curls was tied a burgundy silk scarf, dangling at one side more in the fashion that a woman would wear. Low on his hips were slung black flowing belly dancer pants with a turquoise blue shawl that did _not_ make him look less like a sex god. His white silk shirt was barely staying on both shoulders and several thin gold chains hung around his neck, one of them sporting an evil eye.

“How did you know my name?” John asked.

“Oh, I saw this on the telly! It’s a common name,” Mary explained eagerly, “They…”

“No charge,” The man purred, “For you and Mary.”

“Oh, but it _is_ creepy, isn’t it? Well, if it’s free…”

Mary was walking forward before John could put together the fact that the man’s eyes hadn’t left his for quite some time. As the stranger led them into a Romany wagon soft bells chimed, though John couldn’t see where they were on his clothes. When they got inside the wagon John saw that his jaw had a bit of stubble on it, enough to be intentional rather than a skipped shave. He was _trying_ to be sex personified and it was _working._

They sat down at a very old wooden table coated lacquer with a crystal ball sitting on it in a pile of braided silk. The man moved to the other side but didn’t sit down right away.

“So, you know our names, what’s yours?” John asked sharply.

“Sherlock Holmes,” The man replied, adding a bit of herbs to the candles.

“What, that’s it? No… The Great Sherlock Holmes!!”

“I prefer Mr. actually, but please, feel free to embellish it.”

“What sort of fortune teller are you?” Mary asked.

“Oh, I’m not,” Sherlock replied with a chuckle before sitting down, “I’m the escapologist, and I’m on in twenty minutes so if we could move this along?”

John gaped at the sarcastic smile on his face and then stared in shock as his eyes rolled back in his head. John thought he might be having a seizure but before he could get more than a few inches off his chair the man began to speak in a voice even deeper than the first, almost a growl, as he gripped the table so tightly that it began to shake.

“ _ON THE FIRST NIGHT OF THE FIFTH MONTH A CHILD WILL BE CONCEIVED BY THE WHORE, BUT SEPARATION WILL DESTROY THEM BOTH. YOU WILL KNOW THE GREATEST PAIN MAN CAN EVER SUFFER._ ”

His eyes rolled back into place and he gasped, shaking in a different way as he wiped sweat from his face with a silk handkin.

“Oh, that was neat,” Mary replied, looking completely disgusted, “A bit morbid, though. Let’s go, John. I’ve had enough of this whole macabre scene.”

“Wait just a second…” John stammered, “Did you just call my girl a whore?”

“Let’s go John!” Mary shouted, her tone anxious.

“It shouldn’t be taken literally,” Sherlock explained, “Whore most likely means she’s cheating or has some sort of hole in her soul. The interpretations vary.”

“John, he’s clearly a nut job, let’s just _go!_ ” Mary argued, pulling on his arm.

“Yeah, well, I’m so relieved you didn’t actually mean _whore_ ,” John snapped, “How about the rest then? The worst pain a man can experience? You going to kick me in the bollocks now?”

Sherlock snorted, “No, but I think that part is pretty self explanatory. The worst pain a man can experience is the death of his wife and/or child.”

“John, ple-“ Mary’s voice cut off when John’s hands slammed down on the table.

“Are you threatening me?” He asked, voice cold and soft, “Are you threatening my fiancé and my future _child_?”

“Don’t be daft,” The man replied, picking up a water bottle from the floor and taking a swig, “By the way the fact the first part didn’t reference you but the second part did is important. The child isn’t likely to be yours.”

John swung and the man toppled backward into a nest of clothes that was likely his bed. Before John could follow him over the table and pound him into a pulp two things happened: Mary grabbed his arm and someone shouted for Sherlock to get changed for his act.

Mary dragged John out of the wagon, past an auburn haired man with an aquiline nose- the Ring Master- stared him down as he passed.

“Happy July!” He called as John hurried past after a sobbing Mary.

XXX

It took an hour to calm Mary down and another ten minutes to convince her to stay in the car while he went back to deal with the ‘fortune teller’. He stormed into his wagon to find him topless and drenched in sweat, his wrists bruised from whatever he’d been tied up with. John froze. He’d come in hot with anger but he wasn’t staying that way, now he was hot with an entirely different sensation. Their eyes met and then John was on him like a rabid dog.

They toppled against the wall of the wagon and John tangled his fingers in the man’s hair, tugging him down for a hungry kiss. It was wild and vicious. They bit and scratched, snarled and growled. John’s trousers were unbuckled and pulled down, his pants easily joining them, and then he was rutting into that smooth silk. He could feel a hard cock on the other side of the shamefully thin material and eagerly focused on that area to grind against. The man groaned and John bit his bare shoulder, finding a nipple and twisting it.

“Oh!’ He shouted, and then pressed his hand against the back of John’s head and pushed.

John reveled in the feel of the material, so thin that it was more like lubricant between their skin. The man was undoubtedly not wearing pants. Stubble scratched his face and strong hands gripped his arse, pressing him tightly between those spread legs as he braced them to rut themselves into oblivion.

It couldn’t last. Not with that voracity between them. They bucked and moaned until the man he had pinned down let out a short shout and began to pulse and gasp in his arms. John groaned and followed him into bliss, his seed spilling across sleek material. They clung for a moment, panting and basking in pleasure, before the sweat and the heat and the moment caught up with them. Then John pulled slowly away and Sherlock stared at him with questioning eyes.

“If I ever catch you…” John panted, “Talking to my girl again… I’ll kill you.”

“Duly noted,” Sherlock replied breathlessly.

John pulled up his clothes and fled the wagon, readjusting them as he hurried back to Mary. It was a full day before he shamefully told her what had happened- she forgave him despite her tears- and a month before they found out she was pregnant. They were excited at first, but during the visit with the OBGYN the conception date was announced and John froze.

“When did you say?” He asked.

“Between the 28th of April and the 2nd of May,” The doctor repeated with a smile.

_Basic. I was in basic then._

John didn’t remember leaving the office. He ignored the dozens of calls and text messages. He took a cab to Hyde Park and then walked it until he found the area the caravan had been in.

They were gone.

XXX

Legend has it that there’s a circus that travels the globe full of the stuff of nightmares; vampyres, ghouls, witches, warlocks, and psychics that will turn your life upside down. These are the real monsters, the real things that go bump in the night. However while all of those are fascinating, what is truly amazing, truly breathtaking, is the escapist act that takes place at the end of the show. In it a man with blonde hair and blue eyes blindfolds himself and shoots a Sig Sauer at his bound lover. The goal isn’t to escape unharmed. The goal is to escape _alive_. The blonde is an excellent shot, and both blood and tears are spilled before the chains rattle to the ground. When finally free of the bonds the blonde will remove his mask, hurry forward, and help his injured beloved to his feet. There he will chant over him until the bullets slide free of his body and his wounds slowly heal. The crowd goes wild. The seats are emptied. The couple returns to their wagon a bed stuffed with straw and covered with cotton sheets and silk strips. On the wall is a wedding photo carefully nailed to avoid falling off during transport, though lovingly maintained it is clear upon inspection that it is faded with age as only centuries could manage. 


	2. Fanart

Fanart by Azaghal

 


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